


Just a little coaching

by Chaotic_heart



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, No bunnies were harmed but it's still fluffy, Oral Sex, Strong men being sappy, Sweet, major feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotic_heart/pseuds/Chaotic_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean flies to London to see Richard on a whim that isn't really a whim. Richard has some explaining to do, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. London & Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> My first Gormitage...so I guess we'll see how it goes. ;) This will be either 2 or 3 chapters long.
> 
> Kudos and comments are love.

Dean was dead on his feet when the taxi finally dropped him off in front of the quiet suburban home that was his destination. He barely managed to hoist his duffle over his shoulder and shut the door before the driver sped off, spraying Dean's already soiled blue jeans with muddy rain water. 

He tilted his head to the gray sky, a stunning yawn cracking his jaw and watering his eyes as he stretched his spine and groaned. It wasn't like his trousers could get any dirtier—what with the coffee he'd spilled all over himself on his first flight and the chocolate he'd dropped into his lap. He hadn't even noticed the gooey mess until he'd reached his second stop in Dubai—he was a right disaster. He looked up at the darkly-draped white cottage where no signs of life seemed to exist.

It might have been a mistake showing up out of the blue, but since he'd just spent thirty plus hours traveling, it was now or never. Besides, beneath his exhausted and worse-for-wear exterior, he was deliriously excited to be in London.

The place was just as he remembered, a well-kept yard with a few boxes of orange flowers—English daisies if Dean recalled correctly—and an old wooden bench to one side. He'd spent time on that bench in between rain showers, his trousers damp with each new attempt to enjoy the fresh air. It hadn't mattered though, the company had well made up for any discomfort or annoyance with the weather.

It didn't seem like almost four months since he'd been back, but time certainly did fly when the relationship you were bent on keeping was scattered over two countries, let alone two continents and a whole lot of water in between. They'd planned on being more diligent, and had seen each other on more neutral territory only a month before, but running out of time was just one of life's ways of kicking a guy in the arse and screwing up all his well meaning intentions.

He hesitated at the door, wondering how best to announce his arrival considering he hadn't told anyone he was arriving in the first place. It had been stupid, really, not making actual plans before hopping a plane that cost nearly a fortune because of his out-of-character impulsivity. He supposed it had been out of worry mostly, but he'd be fooling himself if he thought that was the only reason—something akin to love had at least something to do with to it or his name hadn't been Fili the dwarf for eighteen months, which it surely had.

He rang the bell quickly before his nerves had time to wedge a knife any further into his gut. It buzzed loudly, seeming to echo more outside than inside, at least from Dean's perspective. When the door wasn't answered straight away, he wondered if his good intentions had indeed gone awry and there was no one even home to tell him how foolish he'd been in coming so far for so short a time. He did have only a week and some change to sort things out that he wasn't even sure needed sorting or could be sorted in the long run. But if his mother had ever taught him anything in his thirty-seven years, it was to be persistent in getting what he wanted and this was definitely it.

Shuffling his duffle to his other shoulder that was just as tired and sore as the first, Dean reached for the bell again. It buzzed just as the dark wooden door was pulled open, making the sound even louder and more annoying.

"Surprise!" was the only thing he could come up with after spending most the past day thinking of just what to say about his sudden appearance. He obviously didn't have his wits about him nor even the tiniest segment of his brain.

There was an actual pause in the universe at that very moment, everything slowing to a stop as Richard's mouth gaped open and his sweet blue gaze squinted into slits. The momentum finally picked up again when Dean was roughly grabbed and held in place by six plus feet of warm Brit. It took him a few heartbeats to hug back, but when he did—his duffle shoved to the ground as he wound his arms so tightly around Richard's waist—he could barely breathe with the strength of it.

When they finally pulled back, Richard's normally determined eyes, that fit so well with his usual oh-so-stoic persona whether as Thorin or as himself, were damp, and that very fact made Dean quiver a bit inside.

"What are you doing here? Did I miss your call?"

Dean had missed that deep, growly tone as much as he missed his morning cup of coffee. His voice always wrapped comfortably around Dean, pulling him into the protective shield of Richard Armitage's beauty. Dean was a sap and he'd well admit that many times over if it meant the feeling of being with Richard always remained overwhelmingly perfect.

"No, generally _surprise_ means you should be surprised," he teased as butterflies danced along the lining of his belly. 

"Then I'm very happy for the lack of notice. Come in, come in." Richard reached for Dean's bag, winding his other arm around Dean's tired shoulders. He pecked him quickly on one cheek before ushering him inside.

He looked a little disheveled, unkempt in a way that wasn't his usual habit. "I didn't wake you, did I? To be honest I'm not even sure what time it is."

Richard's smile was warm, his face a lovely mess of scruff and happy. "Jet lag will do that. It's eleven o'clock, and no, you certainly didn't wake me. I've been up for hours, in fact—"

"Richard? Was someone at the door?" 

The voice that drifted down the hallway glued Dean to the spot, his feet refusing to move any further than the small entranceway. All the air left his body, seemingly sucked out by the footsteps that followed the words straight to him.

She was tall, mid-thirties, and very attractive, gorgeous in a way she didn't appear to have to try at. Her hair was dark blonde and hung just past her shoulders in waves more natural than assisted. There was nothing fancy about her clothes, tan trousers and a lavender blouse buttoned almost to her chin, only a tiny strip of creamy white skin showing beneath. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said in an unmistakable British accent. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Richard said with too much haste as Dean's bag tumbled to the floor at his feet. "You've heard me speak about Dean from The Hobbit. He's just flown in, or I think he has." He turned back to Dean then, a nervous twitch lifting the right side of his mouth as he forced a smile. "Did you just get in or have you been in town a while?"

"Just off the plane," Dean replied. He pursed his lips, one eyebrow quirking as he tore his gaze from Richard's face to the white elephant in the room, or to be more exact, the lovely lady blocking the hallway in Richard's flat. "You seem to have the advantage," he said, holding out his hand to her. His mother had also taught him manners to be used in even the most awkward situation. "Dean O'Gorman."

"Maggie Scott. You're just as adorable as Richard said."

Dean looked back to Richard, mouthing the word _adorable?_ before bringing his attention back to the woman. 

"I didn't mean to barge in on anything. I can surely come back later if that's more suitable." The last part was aimed at Richard, though not directly spoken to him. Dean was assured he got the message from the shift in his stance.

"No, no," Maggie said with the wave of one perfectly manicured hand. "We're finished and I have an appointment I must get to. I'll just grab my coat."

"I'll get it." Richard pushed passed Dean in a flurry of apologies after tripping over the bag at his feet. It was very unlike him to be so clumsy, yet the situation certainly warranted some flusterment on his part, at least in the scenario Dean was already playing out in his head.

Maggie let him pass, moving to stand beside Dean in the doorway where he still hadn't even bothered to remove his wet sneakers. She toed on an impossibly high pair of heels and suddenly Dean felt like the dwarf in a houseful of hovering elves again.

"It's good you're here," she said while she settled herself in his shoes. "He's been quite a handful as of late. I've had trouble keeping up."

Dean was positive his eyebrows shot up into his hairline as a wave of _you were curious so now you know_ washed over him. He certainly did know, and seeing that this Maggie person also knew about him, he was the epitome of being the odd man out. Brilliant.

"Here you go, Maggie," Richard said as he came around the corner clutching a deep blue trench coat. He slipped past Dean again, helping Maggie on with the jacket while Dean watched in disbelief. "Do you want me to walk you to your car?"

She leaned over and kissed his scruffy cheek, amazingly almost the same height as Richard in her heels, then brushed away the lipstick imprint with the tip of her finger. "You've never done that before. Putting on a few airs in front of your…Dean?"

Richard actually blushed, something Dean had rarely seen him do since they'd known each other, at least when there wasn't a mob of fans dogging his every step. The woman obviously had some mysterious effect on him, one that Dean didn't possess, though he could guess what it was.

"Call me later, Richard." It was a definite statement, not a question. "Have fun you two, but you should probably let Dean get some rest. He looks positively pale and drawn." Then she was gone and Richard shut the door, ultimately shutting the awkward silence in as well.

Dean had to break it. "She seems…nice." It wasn't much, but at that moment it was all he had after thirty hours of travel, fucked-up trousers, and a surprise that had basically been on him rather than Richard. "I won't stay long. Just checking in is all."

"Of course you're staying. Don't be ridiculous." Richard scooped up Dean's bag again, holding it to his chest, big hands splayed over it to keep it there. "Tea? Or breakfast, perhaps? You must be starved."

"Not hungry, but I'll have some tea...unless you have coffee." Richard's smirk and the shake of his head was expected. "Tea it is then. Just going to use the toilet first, yeah?"

"Of course. I'll put the kettle on."

Dean blew out a big breath as he shut the door softly behind him. He stood over the porcelain bowl to do his business, his eyes raking the loo for anything seemingly out of place. After he'd zipped up and washed his hands, he opened the medicine cabinet over the sink. There didn't appear to be anything out of the ordinary—no embarrassing female products or medications in anyone's name but Richard's. He was a little startled to see Richard had any prescribed medication at all since he was unaware of any that he was taking. But he reeled-in his curiosity in time to not snatch the bottle up. It wasn't his habit of messing with someone else's things, even if they were Richard's whom he believed he knew inside and out. 

_Believed_ past tense, of course, if Maggie was any indication. He also had no business asking Richard about the pills since that train seemed to have passed him by. After a quick peek in the mirror to try and finger comb his wonky curls, he had to agree with Maggie on at least one thing—he looked like warmed-over shit. 

Richard was leaned over the sink, his gaze focused out the window when Dean walked into the kitchen. Dean took the opportunity to just admire him. The blue sweater he wore was close to matching the color of his eyes, a color Dean dreamt about regularly, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His trousers were well-cut, not snug but they showcased his powerful thighs and strong calves, not to mention the sexy tightness of his arse. 

Dean liked the extra scruff he'd grown out since their last meeting, and the length of his hair just added to the whole sexy-as-fuck package. His imagination ran wild for a moment...his imagined hands appreciating the softness, fingers tugging and threading through the thickness. Sucking back an inaudible groan, he twisted back to the entrance of the kitchen, redoing his steps and entering with a greeting so Richard wouldn't know he'd been staring at him.

"Tea ready?"

Richard turned, a sweet smile curling his lips. "Not unless you want me to stick a bag in your cup with some hot water."

"Ah, yes. You Brits and your steeping process. You know my mother uses the bag in cup method, yeah?" He was thankful for the easy banter that relieved a little pressure that had surrounded and squeezed around his heart.

"Which is why she lives there and not here…thus doesn't know any better."

"Ah, you figure, huh?" Dean shrugged dramatically. "All right then. I'll be sure to tell her next time I see her."

"Don't you dare," Richard almost shouted at him.

Dean held back a laugh, but it bubbled to the surface without his permission, turning into a mass of giggles he gave up on containing. He'd always wanted Richard to meet his parents but now…

"You have no idea how much I've missed those."

Dean got control over his laughter, a perplexed look furrowing his brows. _Those?_ Richard hadn't said he missed him, just _those_. "Those what?"

Richard stepped closer, Dean having to tilt his head up by the time he stood right in front of him. "Dimples," Richard said with a gentle stroke over Dean's cheek. "I missed your smile and your dimples." He leaned down to kiss first one cheek then the other before zoning in on Dean's lips. He stopped him with a splayed hand on his broad chest.

"Obviously it was just my dimples you missed, mate." 

It took everything Dean had to push him away. He stepped around Richard, moving to slump into one of the cushion-covered chairs at the small round kitchen table. After dragging a hand through his hair, he sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. That was out of line. It's not like we had some specific arrangement."

Richard joined him at the table, sitting across the surface and gazing deeply into his eyes. Dean almost had to look away. Would have, too, if Richard hadn't chosen that moment to speak.

"I think the jet lag has gotten to your brain, lad, because I haven't the foggiest idea what you're going on about."

Awkward met angry in a clash of fire and Dean let it loose, at least to the extent he ever did. "Well then you've just had too much tea and snogging to think properly. Give me some credit, Rich. I just met her in your bloody hallway. Was that part of my delusional jet lag?"

"Her?" Richard wrinkled up his nose in the way that always made Dean want to kiss it—but not today. Today was obviously a new day of non-nose-kissing. "Oh you mean Maggie?"

"You're grinding on my last nerve, mate."

"She's a friend." Dean parted his lips to make some off-hand rude comment, but Richard beat him to it. "No, that's a lie. She's more than just a friend."

And there it was, sucker-punching Dean straight in the gut, going for his jugular without even a stitch of foreplay. He dipped his head, reminding himself he was a bloody grown-up not a child who could stomp his feet and scream about life being unfair and stupid. But that's exactly what he wanted to do. Instead, he took the adult way out.

"So I gathered, but it's all right. You don't have to say anything else. I'm sorry I ruined your morning." Dean was tired, so goddamn tired, and now he'd have to go to the trouble of finding a hotel because he was too bloody daft to plan ahead. Not to mention jumping to the conclusion that Richard wanted to see him. _Fucking fuck._

"What's going…I'm still lost, Dean. Maggie and I were done for the morning so you didn't ruin anything."

Dean groaned, letting his forehead fall to the table with a painful thud. "That's more than enough information, at least for now. I'm all for being friends again, but give me a chance to sort myself out before you start sharing your affair."

"Affair? Oh dear God, you think I'm sleeping with her? Why would you think such a thing?" Dean lifted his head to give Richard his best what-the-fuck glare. "I didn't mean she's more of a friend as in lover. She's my…"

His voice trailed off and Dean had finally had enough. "Sister? Cousin? Maid? What is it, Rich? Which lame ass title are you going to tell me she holds in your life?"

"She's my coach."

"Your bloody what?" Dean was just not that stupid. "Have you joined a rugby team or maybe cricket?"

Richard slapped his hand on the table with enough force to shake it. "My life coach. She's my damn life coach, all right?"

Dean snorted out a laugh, delirium starting to take over his knackered brain. "Is that what you Brits call it?"

He let out a very unmanly squeak when Richard instantly hauled him over the table and into a crushing kiss that made his eyes water—in a truly good way. Their lips slid and pressed, and it was messy and passionate and just what Dean needed. He gripped the sides of Richard's head, slipping his fingers through his hair as he fulfilled his wish to tug and play in it.

When breathing became a necessity, they pulled away with a matched groan. Dean leaned his forehead to Richard's, his body half on and half off the table. He moaned with pleasure as he enjoyed the slow, smooth slide and brush of Richard's hands when they edged under his T-shirt.

"Life coach?"

Richard nodded against him, dipping his face lower as he peppered soft, wet kisses over Dean's face and neck. "She was a friend first. Only a friend." His deep tone vibrated the words against Dean's skin, flowing through him like a warm New Zealand breeze.

The whistling of the kettle interrupted their next kiss, but Richard held tight to Dean's back, dragging and pulling him further across the table until he was on his knees. "Kettle's blowing," Dean whispered when Richard finally pulled him into his lap.

It wasn't the most comfortable of positions, Dean's arousal pressing painfully against the zipper of his trousers, his legs folding in an uncomfortable twist of limbs. He shifted so one foot reached the floor, planting it firmly as he pivoted, quickly flicking off the burner under the kettle. He was back before Richard could take a breath, tilting his head up and back, nipping at his bottom lip before sucking it between his teeth.

He released it with a moaning pop—Richard's moan—and a smirk curling his mouth. "Friend, eh? And what exactly is a life coach?"

Richard shoved his chair back, pulling Dean into his lap again, his lips instantly brushing, searing, across Dean's skin. "You really want to talk about that now?"

Dean grinned harder, his jaw suddenly stretched in an eye-watering yawn. "Sorry."

After planting one last sloppy kiss on Dean's collarbone, Richard squeezed the globes of his ass. "I think a nap may be more important right now."

Dean closed his eyes, resting his head against Richard's, the first wave of contentment sweeping over him since he'd stepped into the airport in Auckland. Sleep wasn't a bad idea since he was barely managing to stay vertical. Horizontal would be good, as long as Richard was beside him. Sex sounded bloody brilliant though, too.

"I see an argument forming in that pretty head of yours. Nap, then you can tell me why you're really here?"

"And you'll explain what the hell a life coach is?" Dean kissed him, quick, chaste, before pulling away and hauling himself to his feet. "Wait. You're _napping_ too, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Kisses and smiles accompanied them down the hallway to Richard's bedroom, tea and Dean's bag long forgotten in the kitchen. Richard helped Dean undress, his hands working far quicker than either of them would have liked. Dean blamed it on the sudden wilting feeling that had taken over his body and softened his bones in the blink of an eye. He was almost asleep on his feet before Richard tucked him under the cool, white sheets, his body instantly relaxing into the soft mattress.

"So happy to be here," he said, his eyes closed, the hushed sounds of Richard undressing making him smile like an idiot.

"You always get a little delirious when you're tired," Richard whispered against his hair, suddenly beside him before Dean even realized.

"Mmm…yeah. Just need a couple hours."

Strong arms pushed and pulled Dean until he was on his side, Richard warm and comforting against his back. "Is this all right?"

Dean reached out from the dregs of sleep that were taking hold. "What?"

"I read it's sometimes better to switch up positions in bed so neither partners' self-esteem will suffer."

There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to Richard's words, but Dean knew from experience, it was best to figure it out sooner rather than later. Richard was a right pitbull when he was quoting something he read. "Positions in bed?"

"Sleeping," Richard said. "I meant sleeping positions."

 _Bloody hell._ "Rich?"

"Yes?"

"What are you on about?"

Richard cleared his throat softly, pressing closer to Dean's back as his baritone words rattled against the nape of Dean's neck. "The article said even in sleep there is an dominant and a submissive." Dean groaned into his pillow. "And forcing the submissive partner to also sleep the same way may be harmful to their—"

"Wait," Dean interrupted. "How are you dominant when you're asleep?"

"You always call it the big spoon and little spoon. May I continue?"

Dean chuckled, sliding his arse further back into the bow of Richard's body. "Go for it. It's not like I can stop you."

"But that's what I'm talking about? I'm perfectly fine if you want to sleep a different way. We could switch to make it less—"

"Bloody hell," Dean growled. "Have I ever given you the impression I do things I don't want to do?"

Richard paused as Dean's brain started to wane again. "Not particularly."

With another painful yawn, Dean grasped the hand pressing against his belly. "Then drop it. I like how you maul and surround me when I'm sleeping. I like that you're bigger too, in case that's the next article you read up on. I don't have any issues with my size. Now can I take the dominant role for a moment?"

"Of course."

"You need to kiss me, spoon me hard so I'm all cozy and protected, then wake me up in two…no, three hours and I promise to blow your bloody mind." Dean felt Richard smile against his neck and he knew he'd won the debate.

"You strike a hard bargain, O'Gorman."

"Two hards in two sentences, huh? Brilliant ratio."

Richard's laugh sent shivers down Dean's spine. "I promise to remind you of that when I wake you up in two hours."

"Three and you've got a deal." More snuggling then Dean was dipping into dreamland. "Sorry…you know…for just dropping in…"

"Couldn't have asked for a better surprise."


	2. Affection & Reacquaintance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter and the total chapters have changed from 2 to 3, only because I thought this could stand alone. (Hopefully it would end up with 4 instead. Lol.) Plus I have another document that will take priority, but I still wanted to put this little scene out there. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> I didn't have a beta for this so all mistakes are mine. As always, kudos and comments are love. :)

There weren't many things in life better than waking to a warm mouth sucking your dick—unless said mouth was also using more teeth than tongue at the exact moment you came into consciousness.

"Fuck, Richard!" Dean's head shot off the pillow, his body coming close to rearing off the bed as well, which in afterthought could have caused a whole other set of problems. "Off! Get the hell off!"

The jolting nips withdrew, replaced by the slow, far-more-enjoyable sucking of Dean's cockhead between Richard's talented lips. Dean let his head relax back into the pillows, still cursing Richard's tactics but only inside his own head. He was getting a supremely enticing blow job after all.

Richard's hand slid gently, torturously up Dean's body, fingertips brushing delicate circles into his skin, nails lightly scratching over the designs to give Dean an almost overload of sensation so early in the morning. Fingers tweaked and rubbed his nipples, tracing his collarbone and the tendons in his neck, and Dean was suddenly aware, teeth or no teeth, he would be perfectly willing to wake up to this particular type of torture every day.

Of course, it was neither early nor morning except in Dean's time zone confused mind. He twisted his head to the side, searching for the old-fashioned, burnished alarm clock in its usual place of honor beside Richard's bed. Richard chose that moment to up the ante as he slid his lips the full length of Dean's shaft, his tip nudging the back of Richard's throat while a hearty moan of _bloody hell, do that again_ scrambled Dean's brain.

One of Richard's hands came to rest on Dean's, their fingers instantly entwined in an intimate gesture that never failed to warm Dean from the inside out. The time and clock were quickly forgotten as Richard continued his ministrations—gentle sucks followed by passionate swallows, then rinse and repeat, again and again. He knew exactly how to keep Dean on the edge, something he clearly enjoyed as Dean flipped from close to coming to _dammit, that's not enough_. It was a tried and true tactic between them, their own private form of torture if you will, and Richard was bloody brilliant at it.

Dean reached his free hand down to tangle in Richard's thick hair, the extra length allowing him to actually wrap some around his fingers. He tugged gently at first, then harder when Richard ignored his whimpers of frustration. He was usually quite content to let Richard have his way with him, so to speak, then reciprocate as was only polite, but he was craving more than just Richard's hand holding his and his tongue stroking his dick.

"Stop enjoying yourself and get up here," Dean urged between labored breaths as Richard took him deep again. "I wanna get you off, too, mate. I missed you so get your arse—and dick—up here for a mind-blowing hand job."

He almost gave up his plan when Richard sucked hard on the head of his cock—quick, heated pulls that made him tip his head back and see stars even in the overly brightness of the bedroom. He moaned for a totally different reason when Richard released him with a popping sound that could have been heard all the way to Hobbiton. But then Richard's hands were cupping Dean's face, his solid body forcing him into the mattress, and they were kissing—crushing, tasting, pressing hard against each other like parched men in need of a pint. And in a way, that's exactly what they were.

In a perfectly choreographed dance they'd practiced many times, Dean slipped a hand between them while Richard slid his body further up the bed, making Dean crane his neck to keep the connection of their mouths. Most times their height difference was no big deal for Dean, but other times, like when they were kissing, it was a bloody pain in the arse.

Finding Richard already naked and needing sent a jolt of excitement to Dean's own plumped arousal. He shifted his hips a little, getting the best angle possible as he fisted both cocks, and applied a slow, gentle stroking. He felt Richard smile against his mouth, their teeth clicking with what would be many missteps in their dance toward climatic release, not that either one of them was complaining.

Richard pulled back, grin so wide Dean thought his teeth could actually glow in the dark. They never spoke during their dance, just soft knowing presses of lips and fingers, tongues and cocks, excited bodies and thudding hearts. It was almost poetic how they'd developed such an unspoken language all their own. Bragi himself would have been exceptionally pleased with their efforts.

When Richard leaned in again, kissing the corners of Dean's mouth, Dean knew his dimples were the true target, and that was perfectly fine. What man or woman in their right mind wouldn't want Richard Armitage worshipping any part of their body, after all. Once Richard was finished licking at Dean's face, he pressed their foreheads together, wrapping his hand around Dean's smaller one. He encouraged a faster pace on their dicks with a simple but deadly squeeze, closing his eyes when Dean complied and they stroked in unison.

Dean slid his other hand up the smooth contours of Richard's back, winding a path so his fingers moved from one side of his spine to the other, feeling elation whip through him when Richard squirmed and moaned under his touch. Dean considered himself to be a fit individual. He took care of himself, worked out when the mood struck him, and ate well, despite the rigors of an often scattered schedule.

But Richard…Richard was a bloody work of art, and Dean didn't just think that way out of complete bias. He readily admitted to falling immediately in lust with Richard Armitage on the set of The Hobbit, and he'd been the one to make the first move as well. But there was truly no denying how fine a specimen Richard was whether clothed or not. 

They hadn't moved their relationship to the next level until filming was complete, settling for a unique and deep friendship that may have involved a few kisses and hugs here and there, plus taking full advantage to cop a feel once and a while. It had suited them both with Richard being so deeply engrained in Thorin, and Dean just trying to prove himself as the new kid on the block for the first while. 

They developed a knowledge of one another that was interesting and amazing, and showed them that physical attraction alone was not the only attraction at all. Of course, as soon as they were released back into the wild, all sexual hell had broken loose between them, and it was still that way after almost eighteen months of reunion and separation. It was by no means ideal, but for now it was what it was.

Dean's breath quickened when Richard paused his fingers around their cocks, his baby finger moving lower to stroke Dean's balls in a way he knew made Dean mad. Dean shifted his hand from Richard's strong shoulders to the back of his head, cupping his skull to push their foreheads harder together. Richard countered with a hand sliding into Dean's hair, tugging it gently much the same way Dean had done before. When their mouths sought each other again, it coincided with the slight pulsing of Dean's dick against Richard's. Just a gentle thrumming to begin with until things sped up substantially and they were breathing heavily into each other's mouths. 

Dean fell over the edge first, ripping his lips from Richard's with a gut-drawn groan, his back bowing, hips bucking up into the sweaty wetness of his palm and the gliding pre-cum of Richard's shaft. He whimpered when Richard smacked his hand away, replacing it with his own and stroking hard and fast, his thumb sliding with precision over Dean's slit. Dean's fingers made moon-shaped indents in Richard's skin as his cum pulsed and flooded over Richard's hand, the added slip and slide pulling a sexy groan from somewhere deep inside Richard's body as he kept up his quick rhythm, coaxing Dean through his orgasm just as his own began.

After releasing his steely hold, Dean wound arms around Richard's shoulders, captured his lips again, his tongue flicking and prodding, gaining entrance as Richard fell apart in his arms. He held tight as Richard's body flexed and convulsed, a Thorin-worthy growl slipping from his throat and descending down Dean's. He scratched and rubbed Richard's neck and skull as he plummeted back down to earth. He knew the added stimulation was something Richard needed when his climax was ebbing and flowing, then winding down in a low groan of satisfaction, and he was happy to comply with his needs.

When they were both spent, satisfied, contented to a boneless degree, Richard slid his arms around Dean's waist, pulling and tugging him until Dean was more on top of Richard than not. He held him tightly, the strong thumping of their hearts keeping perfect time with one another. Dean let himself just sink into Richard's familiar smell, the sweet huffs of his breathing, the touching of their bodies as close together as possible. 

It was always that way with them. Even after a hard and quick session, they took the time to lie together afterwards, to let their bodies and minds regroup and refocus, their skin cooling and becoming sticky with sweat and seed. It was a comforting habit, a brief period of time when nothing and no one else existed, where they were completely in the moment and still emotionally joined as one.

At least that's how Dean had always thought about it.

Eventually though, reality came rushing back—the real world calling and coming quickly into focus. There were clothes to be put on, schedules to keep, and actual words to be spoken. But it was brilliant while it lasted.

"Hey," Dean said, the first to break their contented bubble, as he lifted his head to gaze into Richard's icy blue eyes. He leaned up to kiss him, soft, slow, saying with his lips what he felt so strongly in his heart. "Didn't seem like three hours. Did you rush my beauty rest?"

With a laugh, Richard flipped Dean onto his back. Dean whooshed out a breath, momentarily stunned as Richard loomed over him like some sexy, mad, escaped lunatic from the asylum. "I'm offended that you'd say such a thing. Three hours on the dot. I even timed it."

"Hmm, why am I not surprised? Could've done without the teeth though. That was a nasty trick, Armitage."

Richard grinned then stole a kiss…from Dean's left dimple, of course. "Step off. My jaw was getting sore. I was down there a good twenty minutes before sleeping beauty doth awaken."

Dean snorted out a giggle. "Seriously? Couldn't have been doing such a bang-up job if I lasted that long."

"You wound my pride, O'Gorman. But I will admit, it was just as much for me as you. Been a while since I got to enjoy you properly without you putting a rush on things."

"Can't help it if you always know exactly which buttons to push. But please feel free to take your pleasure again whenever the mood strikes you."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Please do," Dean mumbled, his lips already pressed to Richard's again. Staying in bed for the rest of the day was a definite plan in his mind, at least until his stomach decided to protest very loudly about the current state of its emptiness.

Richard chuckled then buried his face in Dean's neck, his lips warm and moist against Dean's sensitive skin. After a few nibbles to Dean's collarbone, he resurfaced, playfully pushing the curls back from Dean's forehead. "I believe it's teatime. Don't want you losing weight and fluttering off in the wind."

"Toss off," Dean replied, giving Richard a hearty push. "Now feed me before I kick your arse, big man."

"I don't for a moment believe that you couldn't."

Dean grinned up at him, yelping as he was yanked from the warmth of the bed and into Richard's waiting arms. So far his surprise was fucking brilliant.


	3. Easy conversation & issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may require your dentist's attention after this chapter. Sorry for that. ;)
> 
> Again, I've upped the chapters to 4 now. Just seems to grow and grow. Hope you enjoy anyhow.

"I'll just whip something together," Richard said as he padded barefoot into the kitchen. 

Dean followed close behind, doing up the zip of his dirty jeans. His bag still hadn't made it into the bedroom so he was sure he could manage another couple of hours with them until—hopefully—Richard took them off him again. He was still fighting some achiness, but otherwise feeling refreshed and famished. 

"Anything you wanna make is cool."

"Unless you wanted to go out to eat?"

It wasn't a real question, just a standard one they both threw out there in a way to get the other's reaction. They never went out for the obvious reasons, but also because Dean didn't like to share Richard. And share he would have to since they were on Richard's turf and he was completely beloved in his home town.

Richard also never threw anything together. When he was at home, whether in London or New York, he always had a menu prepared for the week. But Dean didn't feel the slightest bit bad about barging-in since Richard always made more than enough for leftovers. Today Dean would be the leftover guest.

"Have a seat." Richard motioned to the kitchen table as he opened the refrigerator and starting pulling out various ingredients.

Dean did as instructed, thankful for the respite from legs that were a little tired from his travels. He planted his elbow on the table and rested his cheek in his hand. "Don't suppose you want any help with that?" he teased, already fully aware of the answer. Richard didn't like anyone "underfoot" when he was cooking.

"You still look knackered so I'll pretend you didn't even ask. I could boil the water again though. Tea?"

"Do you still have that old coffeemaker we bought from the charity shop a while back?"

Richard turned to look at Dean before reaching into the cupboard over the sink. "Of course, but I don't think there was any left over from last time." He set the machine on the counter beside the cooker. "I could run to the corner and get some, if you like?"

Dean was out of his chair before Richard completed his offer. Crouching down beside his forgotten duffle, he took a cellophane package out and wiggled it over his head. "Always be prepared, mate. Especially when your boy—your _friend_ is an old tea granny."

He tossed the bag to Richard who caught it with a soft chuckle. "That was an awkward pause. Don't know quite what to call me, huh?"

With a shrug, Dean zipped up his duffle then sank into his chair again. He watched while Richard poured the water and measured the grounds just as Dean had taught him. "Never really say it out loud so I dunno. What would you call us?"

"I guess I've never really put a word to it either. Something we should discuss may—"

"Doesn't matter," Dean interrupted. "But speaking of friends, Adam says hi."

"Oh, you saw Adam?" Richard smiled to the side at Dean as he took a baking dish from the cupboard and started adding ingredients into it. "In Los Angeles?"

"Yeah. Was down there for an appointment. He's doing well."

"I forgot you were in the States. How did it go…the _appointment_ , I mean?"

Dean shrugged again. They didn't normally talk about work. It was just an unspoken rule between them, plus there were other more pressing things circling Dean's head. "I've got a couple things brewing back home."

"More scandalous Norse gods?"

With a laugh, Dean shook his head. "No, I think that ship's sailed. But…going back to the friends' subject—Maggie? What exactly is a life coach? And why do you need one all of a sudden?"

He waited as Richard turned the cooker on then finished adding whatever was needed into the dish. The delightful aroma of coffee had started filling the kitchen and Dean was literally in heaven because of the fragrance and having Richard within snogging distance. When he'd slid the casserole into the oven and retrieved a few vegetables from the refrigerator, Richard left them sitting on the counter and took the chair closest to Dean.

He leaned in, kissing Dean on the side of the mouth. Dean chuckled and wrinkled his nose. "You seem to have a preference for the left one, eh?"

Richard pulled back, a teasing question in his eyes. "What?"

"Dimple. You give the left far more attention than the right."

"Do you suppose that will make your face lopsided?" Richard stroked a hand over Dean's head, his long fingers wrapping around Dean's neck. "Can't chance it, can we?" With a gentle tug, he turned Dean's head so he could kiss the right side of his mouth.

"Much better," Dean said, beaming, willing his dimples to pop so Richard would just keep kissing them. Instead, his lips became the target. He grinned against Richard's mouth, twisting sideways in his chair so he could cradle Richard's face between his fingers.

He breathed Richard in, reveled in how he seemed to miss his smell, his touch, his lips even more after each separation. Long distance relationships were hard at the best of times, but for two men who often traveled for work, they were near impossible. Dean would never wish for another job but regular schedules were good for certain things.

Once Richard pulled his lips away, Dean slipped a hand into his hair and tugged him in close. They sat that way for a while—still, quiet, more than a little awkward in their body-positioning, but completely as one. Dean was tempted to drag Richard back to his bedroom except there was only one thing he craved more than Richard's attentions at that moment—coffee. Melding himself to Richard usually won out, but if he intended on staying awake, the exquisite aroma had to reach more than his nose.

Richard ruffled the side of Dean's hair then slipped from Dean's arms. "Coffee? I'll get it."

"You're too good to me."

"Agreed," Richard said with a sexy smirk. He grabbed what Dean knew to be the biggest mug in his house and filled it to the brim. Setting it in front of Dean, he gave a slight bow then turned away. "Your sustenance, my good man."

"Bloody brilliant. You could have said at your service though?" He ducked away from Richard's glare, giggling and tipping his head in apology. "Going to join me?" It was another question that didn't need an answer. 

"I'll put the kettle on."

Dean just nodded as he blew over the rim of his cup, sipping carefully because he couldn't wait. His tongue stung with the heat but it was exactly what he'd needed. Setting the cup down again, he relaxed back in his chair, legs straight and spread out in front of him. Richard cocked an eyebrow when he turned back to the table.

"Interesting pose. Are you hinting that you aren't satisfied with just the coffee?"

"Not at all. Food going to take a while?"

Richard nodded, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing softly. "Why don't we go into the sitting room until it's ready? More comfortable I think. I'll just grab my tea."

Dean tucked both hands around his cup, stepping carefully down the hallway and into the warmth of the dark green room. The drapes were still drawn but it offered a simple intimacy that Dean liked. He sat himself on one end of the old sofa that he swore was older than him. Richard refused to get rid of it since it has been his first newly acquired piece of furniture so many years ago. It was faded in places, a little lumpy in others, but otherwise it was cozy, and also one of Dean's favorite spots for getting busy—though Richard hated it when he referred to it like that. He didn't much like when Dean called it shagging either but that was just something they agreed to disagree on.

He pulled the coffee table closer, setting his mug down before he sank heavily into the sofa. As he waited for Richard, he closed his eyes, more in thought than actual sleepiness anymore. The voicemail he'd received from Peter niggled in the corner of his brain.

_"Hey Dean. It's Pete. How're things? I'm wondering if you've talked to Richard lately. I've not checked with anyone else because…the two of you seemed closer as of late. Anyhow, can you give me a ring back. I'm just a little worried that I haven't heard from him."_

"Should I grab a blanket to tuck you in?" Dean opened his eyes to Richard's sweet gaze peering down at him. "It's perfectly fine if you need another lie-down."

Dean smirked and patted the cushion beside him. "Naw. I'm good. Sit?"

Richard placed his teacup beside Dean's coffee, before settling himself mere inches from Dean. Their thighs touched and though Dean hated to break the warm contact, he preferred to be facing Richard to talk. Bending one of his legs beneath him, he turned sideways on the couch, purposely tucking his knee against Richard's leg again.

Richard looked curiously at him, the corners of his mouth turned up in a nervous grin. "Is this the part where you tell me why you unexpectedly popped in from all the way across the globe?"

"Yes, and some other things, as well."

Richard reached for his cup, sipping noiselessly then setting it back down. Dean was sure he took a deep breath before he spoke. "What if I'd not been home? Of course, I'm pleased that I am, but I've never known you for being impulsive."

"Have you talked to Pete lately?" Dean decided putting all his cards on the table was for the best. 

"No. Should I have? Nothing's wrong is there?"

Dean shook his head, one hand moving to cover Richard's knee. His own hand was quickly encased in Richard's in one of the quiet intimacies he'd come to expect from the often-stoic man. Suddenly all seemed right with the world again…almost. "I talked to him a couple days ago and he asked me if you were all right."

"Why ever would he do that?" Richard wrinkled his nose in thought. Dean definitely liked the expression. "Oh, he's worried about the New York fan event, isn't he?"

"Should he be? He seems to think you were having second thoughts about being there." Dean slid his fingers around the handle of his cup and took a quick gulp. "Is he right?"

Richard nodded, his head bowed as he licked his lips. "Yes, but I've gotten over my apprehension."

"Apprehension? You've done these things before, and this is really a quickie, isn't it?" 

"It is, but I've been having some…problems lately."

Dean contemplated the statement, seemingly made out of hesitation on Richard's part. He didn't recall hearing about any problems the last time they spoke. "You never said anything. We talk regularly…why wouldn't you mention it? What sort of problems? Are you all right?"

"Aren't Kiwis notorious for their calm demeanor?" Richard asked with a nervous smile. "I'm fine, really. Let's just say I was having some issues with…anxiety, I guess. It all seemed silly, really, and I didn't want to concern you."

"I'm always concerned about you, Rich." Dean slid a little closer, shifting his hand from Richard's and wrapping it behind his neck. "I thought we already established that fact."

"We did, and I know…but to be perfectly blunt, I felt silly telling anyone."

"I would have never ridiculed—"

Richard cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Yes. But I already have several odd hang-ups and I hoped I could get this one under control on my own."

"And did you?"

"Maggie helped me with that."

"Is that what a life coach does?"

"Among other things. I suppose I just needed to talk to someone."

Dean tried not to be offended, but having his…whatever-the-hell he was supposed to be called not, even attempt to speak to him about a problem was a little harsh. "Talk to someone? I don't expect you to tell me everything, but I would have tried to help or at least listened."

"It wasn't a slight to you at all, I assure you." Dean could see Richard back-pedaling, his jaw set in a very Thorin-like pose. "But it was tricky because you ended up being part of the conversation."

"With Maggie?" Things were becoming overwhelmingly clearer…sort of. "Oh, that's why she said she'd heard of me before."

"Yes." Richard leaned forward, his gaze darting to Dean's then away again. He brought his cup to his lips, holding it there for a moment without taking a drink. "It was two different issues, really, but they all produced a bit of panic, I suppose. I'm not sure that's the right word for it but it was the general outcome."

"Like panic attacks? I've never known you to succumb to anxiety. Did something happen?"

"Not that I can surmise. I'd been doing quite a bit of traveling between here and New York…"

"I remember. Last month, yeah?"

Richard nodded, dipping his head, then lifting it again to meet Dean's gaze. "I went to my doctor and he prescribed some anxiety medication. He also suggested seeing someone more specific. I didn't want to go to a psychiatrist because I just didn't feel it was warranted."

"Fixing your health is always warranted, Rich."

With a slight nod of his head, Richard acknowledged Dean's view on the subject. "Yes, that's not what I meant. I was embarrassed. I pride myself on being in control, at least in public situations." He paused and Dean sat patiently, rubbing slow circles on the back of Richard's neck. "I was in the market and I was suddenly overcome. Probably not in any noticeable way but—I had to leave my purchases and go home. It's outrageous to even think about."

"What happened?" Dean was rather confused, but he let Richard take him through the scenario without interruption.

"There was a group of ladies who, I suppose, recognized me." Richard was too damn modest— _he supposed_ they recognized them. _Bloody fucking hell_. "They asked if they could take a photograph, and of course, I agreed, but it ended up being five bloody pictures and autographs and then all at once there was a crowd surrounding us. It wasn't even that so much as the things people were saying, in particular about my private life."

Dean stopped the tiny grin that formed on his lips. He didn't want to be disrespectful to Richard's trauma, but in some ways _he_ was the answer to his own question. "They wanted to know if you had a girlfriend, did they?"

Richard blew out a big puff of air, flustered in a way Dean had rarely seen him. "Wasn't just that. A couple of them actually stuffed their phone numbers in my pockets and…it was as if they were applying for the position or something. I was very uncomfortable."

"And you left?"

"Not before I made excuses of forgetting some prior engagement. Even then the original group of five followed me to the car, snapping photos and saying a _man like me_ shouldn't be alone. What does that even mean?"

"They're right."

"Don't be cheeky. This was serious, at least in my head."

"I'm sorry." Dean dipped his head in apology, moving his fingers a little harder against the tendons of Richard's neck. "And after that? Did something else happen because it couldn't have been the first time you were propositioned. I know for a fact it wasn't." Dean wiggled his eyebrows and grinned wide in hopes he could lighten up the dark look on Richard's face. Unfortunately, his cuteness didn't apply to the situation nor make it better. It was the first time he considered that Richard was truly upset by what had happened. "Go on…please?"

With a hearty sigh, Richard continued, "I had an interview a few days later. I went, but never made it out of the car when I saw the crowd of people in front of the television station. I had to cancel because it felt like I couldn't breathe."

"Did I talk to you that day? I remember you seemed very out of sorts on one of our Skyped conversations. You said you were just a little under the weather. If I recall, we didn't talk long either."

"Yes, that was the same day. I was ashamed, Dean. Forty-two years old and I couldn't do something I've been doing for twenty years. It was bloody mortifying to tell you the truth."

Dean leaned in to rest their heads together. "I'm sorry. I wish I could have helped."

Richard dragged him closer, wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulders and a hand around the back of his head. "I'm not sure you could have." Dean was uncomfortable with the statement and tried to pull away to ask Richard about it. Richard held fast to him. "You couldn't have helped because I think…no, I know, you're part of the problem."

Dean finally wrenched himself away, shifting so quickly he knocked his knee on the coffee table and his cup wobbled precariously until it settled again. A flash of anger streaked through him. He'd just spent more time and patience than he wanted to consider to see Richard, and suddenly he was part of Richard's…issues? "The problem? I didn't realize I'd become a problem to you."

"No, not like that. Bloody hell." Richard reached for him, but whether it was the long-arse day Dean had already had, the surprise of an obviously attractive and familiar woman in Richard's house, or being called a problem, Dean was past patience. He shuffled over on the sofa, putting out a hand to stop Richard crowding in on him.

"I can't believe I'm asking this like some jealous boyfr—whatever the hell I am, but is Maggie actually who you say she is. Just be honest, Rich, because in all fairness, I just travelled across the globe because I was worried—not just Pete—me. And so far I've met a strange woman in your kitchen, I've found out you've been having panic attacks, and I've been referred to as one of your problems. I think I deserve—"

Dean had no warning when Richard tugged him sharply into his lap, capturing his mouth in a brutal kiss that said Dean wasn't going anywhere. He resisted at first, but he'd never been very good at that when it came to Richard. Instead, he kissed him with just as much force, rising to his knees and pushing Richard back against the sofa—pressing, needing, taking, as lips bruised, tongues tangled and teeth clicked together. 

Dean climbed Richard's body, shifting it until Richard's legs were straight out on the sofa then straddling his hips. The kiss more desperate than any other Dean could remember. Things between them had always been simple and controlled, caring and easy, honest and brilliant—until now.

He retreated when the metallic taste of blood stung his tongue, splaying a hand on Richard's chest and forcing their mouths apart. He was overwrought with desire and uncomfortable with the situation all at the same time. As he fought to catch his breath, he was happy to find Richard doing the same, his broad chest rippling and heaving under Dean's fingertips.

"Bleeding hell," Richard said between gulps of air. He held tight to the back of Dean's neck, his other hand fisted in Dean's T-shirt. "That's the problem right there. How can you not know that? Yes," he suddenly growled. "Propositions are a dime a dozen, but when you're already in love, it's a totally different thing, isn't it?"

Dean's heart rate soared, his mouth dropped open and he felt like a fish fighting to breathe. His insides carried a mass of contradictions to his brain—elation, anger, desire to rip Richard's clothes off, and denial of what he'd heard.

"Did you just…"

"I think I did."


	4. Naps & Proposals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware the fluff! Not a holiday story but this chapter has all the makings of one. :)   
> Sorry for the delay - I ran into a snag after the last chapter so it took a little time to get back to the story. I did enjoy writing the pairing though so my Dean/Richard universe might eventually see a little more action. 
> 
> Comments are love. Happy Holidays. :)

Dean wasn't happy when he woke up alone on the sofa with a crick in his neck the size of New Zealand. He was equally unimpressed that Richard had let him fall asleep again, especially considering the conversation they'd been having, and the bomb Richard had dropped. It was true they'd strayed from the actual speaking angle and into the kissing and groping one, but still, how had he fallen asleep with Richard's hands and lips all over him?

The savory aroma of something delicious wafted down the hall from the kitchen, almost yanking Dean from his forced frown. _Almost_. He swung his legs over the edge of the couch, his neck and back protesting loudly as he tried to stretch them a little too quickly.

"Christ. I must be getting old." 

Once he was upright again, Dean sauntered down the hallway still practicing the angry frown he was trying so hard to keep on his face. Richard had a way of turning his frown upside down with a single smile, but Dean was having none of it this time. He focused on several words as he paused before the entryway of the kitchen— _Important, conversation, already in love_. They were all very sound ways to enter into a discussion with Richard, as well as making out and sleep allowances—the latter being Richard's propensity to let Dean sleep when there were other things to be doing.

"Ah, sleeping beauty arises." 

Dean refused to smile as he slipped around the corner and into the very fragrant room. Richard stood by the sink, his backside resting against the counter and his arms folded across his chest. His cardigan was slightly askew, one side pushed up so it revealed just a sliver of pale skin between the material and his dark trousers. And his hair was a mess of misguided curls so far removed from Richard's normal look that Dean had to stifle his grin again. Dammit, he looked as delicious as whatever was making the house a smorgasbord for Dean's olfactory system.

But that wasn't the point. The point was Dean had traveled a bazillion miles to see him and he'd already had two flipping naps instead of spending any time with Richard. Putting it that way made it sound like it was Dean's fault, but it wasn't the first time Richard had failed to be a little less demanding in his coddling—and Durin knew he was a damn good coddler.

They'd had a conversation about it before—Richard's inability to put his foot down, so to speak, since Dean hated when his sudden naps took precious time away from his time with Richard. He blamed Aidan. Dean had never been a napper before the damn Irish napping-machine had come snoring into his life. Now he seemed to be able to doze off anywhere, even when he wasn't reeling with jetlag. It was annoying and totally Turner's fault.

"You look angry, but adorable."

Dean cocked his head, widening his stance so he was less inclined to march across the room and throw himself at Richard. That would surely come later though. "Did you just call me adorable? That's not cool, mate."

Richard bowed his head, a soft chuckle vibrating his entire body. "The adorable part is that you're trying to be angry with me and failing miserably."

"Oh fuck off."

The words didn't even faze Richard. He kept grinning, one side of his mouth twisted higher than the other in what Dean knew _that Richard knew_ was irresistible.

"You weren't asleep that long, love." Richard shrugged at him, that strip of skin moving and practically sparkling to be touched as he did it. "You're exhausted. It's really not a problem, is it?" His smile was sweet, placating, and he even made Dean feel adorable for bloody sakes.

"Dammit," he growled, throwing himself into one of the chairs before he threw himself somewhere else in someone else's arms. "You know I hate when I do that."

Richard nodded. "Yes, and you blame Aidan."

A snicker slipped past Dean's lips at the pouty pose Richard was giving him. "It's true, and stop being so agreeable." Richard licked over his bottom lips, then pursed his mouth into a dramatic pout. A word popped into Dean's head—two words actually, _making out._ "Just tell me I didn't pass out mid-snog."

"Not…really. You just sort of faded gradually and there might have been a little rocking involved."

 _Oh no he didn't._ "What? Rocking? Rich!"

Richard didn't even bother to look guilty as he cocked his head to the side and shifted his long body more comfortably against the counter. "If it makes any difference, it was enjoyable for me too."

"It doesn't," Dean hissed half-heartedly—more like no-heartedly. "You know I don't like it when you…I dunno…"

"Take care of you?"

Dean shrugged as the proverbial cat jumped out of the proverbial bag. He didn't think he'd admitted his concern before, at least not in such a blatant way. Richard did have that effect on him—made it impossible for Dean to fudge his way out of situations he'd rather keep closed-mouth about. "Not so much care but…you tend to spoil me when you get the chance."

It was Richard's turn to shrug. "Maybe that's because I don't get enough opportunities to do so. It was only a short nap, Dean, not the end of the bloody world."

There wasn't much else Dean could say with Richard's blues staring at him so soft and pretty. He had to concede defeat—just another victim of the Armitage charm. "Fine," he said, hanging his head for a mere moment before he flashed a dimple at Richard—the left one, of course. "I guess that means you should come over here and make up for lost time then, yeah?"

Richard's eyes turned dark. Dean would totally swear they did. "You come here. I'm knackered from all that rocking."

"Arsehole," Dean muttered. He considered staying in his comfy chair for barely five heartbeats then just gave up the goat—not that he'd ever say that to absolutely anyone since the _fake goat incident_. He just concentrated on the sexy man leaning provocatively against the counter. Their time would be too short as it was. He practically launched himself into Richard's arms, a loud _Oof_ sliding up Richard's throat followed closely by a hearty chuckle.

The kiss was desperate at first, Dean forcing all his frustration—mostly with himself—into it, but then it gentled, becoming a sweet slide and press of lips and tongue. Dean clung to Richard's neck while Richard's big hands wrapped around the globes of his backside. He pulled Richard farther down, burying his nose in his neck, before automatically adjusting his own stance when Richard slumped a little lower against the counter. They stood that way for a while, silent and saying so much without actual words.

"I meant it," Richard muttered against Dean's hair. "Didn't want it to come out in quite that way but…" He sighed and Dean just held on tighter, knowing Richard hadn't finished what he had to say. It was a brilliant feeling to be so in-tune with another person, especially one who brought out such strong emotions in you. "I've been toying with how to say it for some time…just never seemed like the right mo—"

"I love you, Rich." The words were easier than a Dean had ever expected them to be, and he felt a warm glow on his face when Richard moved his hands to slide around his waist. He held on so tight Dean thought he might stop breathing, but it was an awesome feeling nonetheless.

"Feels good to hear it." Richard's voice was soft, even rumblier than usual. Dean wondered if that was the emotion coming out, the feelings neither one of them had ever expressed before. The mere thought made his whole body ache with need and want…and yeah, a lot of love, too.

"Yeah, it does."

"Guess I could have said it a little more properly though."

"You said it just fine."

Richard loosened his hold just enough to push Dean backwards. His hands fell to Dean's hips and he kept them there strong and firm as he gazed into his eyes. His cheeks were pink, a soft flush gathering and spreading from his neck upwards. Dean always thought his quick-to-blush look was sexy as hell.

"I love you." Richard appeared slightly worried as he confessed. His gaze held Dean's with determination and just a touch of soft hope around the edges. "I can honestly say there aren't many people I've said that to, and never in the way you make me feel."

"Now you're embarrassing me." Dean smirked, trying to lighten the mood a little since Richard was glowing like an exit sign.

But Richard shook his head. "I need you to know I mean it, Dean, and I need to know you do, too."

Richard's gaze flip-flopped from determination to wistful and back again in literally the blink of an eye. It was a look Dean only remembered seeing during the harder parts of their shoot, the times that Richard had been required to sell his very soul to emote himself through Thorin.

"I do," Dean said softly. He rose up on his toes to press a firm but quick kiss to Richard's mouth. But purposeful commitment to what he was saying remained clear on Richard's face. "Is there something else you're needing to say? You seem a little intense."

"Mid-life crisis." Richard sighed with the words, his head tipping back as his eyes closed.

"What? You or me?"

A Thorin-worthy snarl vibrated Richard's lips when he looked back down. "The physician said my anxiety was part of some big life decision I was trying to make, hence the mid-life crisis."

Dean shook his head in hopes of clearing the _what the fuck_ feeling inside. "Aren't you a little young for that?"

"Apparently not." Richard's fingers traced slow circles into Dean's hips as he spoke. "I guess it happens differently with everyone, not that that makes it any less absurd."

"So what's next? You buy a little red sports car?"

Richard snorted his reply, gently bumping his forehead to Dean's. "No. I think you're the catalyst for my crisis."

"The what?" Not even squinting his eyes and wrinkling his nose could make Dean understand what was going on, and those were usually sure-fire ways of kick-starting his brain.

"Maybe catalyst is the wrong choice of words? Reward, perhaps." Dean blinked in confusion before Richard squeezed his hips. "I think we should sit down."

Richard steered him to his usual chair, then slid into the one beside him. He threaded a hand through his hair, making the unruly curls stand up even more haphazardly. Dean tried not to think he was adorable because _what the fucking fuck_? He was a catalyst, a reward that had something to do with Richard seeing a shrink and having a beautiful life coach. He was pretty sure he couldn't have been more befuzzled if Richard dropped another bomb on him.

"I need to ask you something, Dean."

Those words were akin to someone saying _"we have to talk"_ and they didn't sit well in Dean's head or his heart. Of course, being who he was, he chose humor to deflect his discomfort. "Gonna ask me to marry you, Rich? 'Cause I'd expect a big rock to go with a proposal."

"Not exactly."

"Not ex—what?"

Dean figured he was still asleep because he was in the damn Twilight Zone, and not the sparkly vampire kind—the creepy music and freaky fuckers kind.

"Are you all right? You look pale. Do you need some water?"

"I _need_ you to tell me what's going on before my head explodes and you have to hose down your kitchen."

At least that pulled a tiny smile from Richard. "It's not as bad as it sounds."

"Asking me to marry you?"

"No," Richard snapped. "Sorry. I mean the crisis thing. It's more a matter of my priorities switching a little without my consent and without any sort of warning to my brain or any other part of my body. Catalyst is the wrong word because it sounds like you did something wrong and you certainly didn't, while reward makes it sound like—"

Dean's struggled to wade through the words that spilled from Richard's lips. He often thought he needed a slow motion button just to keep up with Richard when he went off on a tangent that only he could keep up with. "Wait. What priorities?"

With an apologetic smile that made Dean want to kiss him, Richard slowed his speech. "Work and those sorts of things…things like you."

"I didn't realize I fell into your list of priorities."

"You do…more than I had even realized."

Dean squinted at him, completely unsure if he'd just been complimented or put-upon. "Um, thanks?"

Richard huffed out a big breath then groaned with frustration. He dropped his head to the table, his next sentence barely audible against the sleeve of his jumper. "I'm doing this all wrong."

Dean brushed his hand over Richard's head, stroking his fingers down his neck and rubbing tiny circled in the tense muscles. "Wanna start again then?"

"What?" Richard peered up at him with one eye, his burning cheeks still glow-worthy.

After pressing a kiss to the top of Richard's head, Dean jumped up from his chair and strode from the kitchen. Richard's confusion followed him out.

"Wait. Dean what are you—"

"Hey, Rich!" Dean said, a bright smile on his face when he walked back in. "I just got into town and thought I'd stop by. How are you, mate?"

"You've gone mad."

Dean pushed his curls from his forehead, hollowing his cheeks in a way he knew made his dimples pop. "I know, right? Dropping in without calling. But since I'm here now, you mind if I sit down?" Dean sat in his usual chair again. "So…anything new with you?"

A slow smile painted Richard's lips. He reached for Dean's hand and squeezed it between his fingers. "I want you to move in with me."

The Twilight Zone just got crazier. "You want me to—here?" Richard definitely didn't know how to play the _starting over_ game.

"No, no," Richard said with a shake of his head. He brushed his other hand over Dean's cheek, his index finger pausing to molest his left dimple. "In New York."

"Oh." Dean had nothing else to say as his brain attempted to catch up with Richard's statement.

"I don't mean all the time…well, I do, at least when we're not working. I spend a lot of my time there anyhow, and I do already have the flat. I just thought since _Johnsons_ was finished you might want to go on some auditions in America. It's as good a place as any by way of a stopping post between us anyhow. I'm sure your agent could set you up with some auditions and I could certainly help you out with that—"

"Rich." Dean leaned into Richard's palm, kissing his fingers and covering the elegant hand with his own. "You're babbling and I'm having a hard time keeping up."

Richard reddened a little more, his gaze dipping to his lap. "I'm sorry—"

"It's all right." Dean nuzzled against Richard's palm. "So the main issue on the table is me living with you in New York?"

"Well, only when you can, of course—"

"Only when we both can…okay, I've got that. And this is all part of your mid-life crisis? Should I be flattered or offended? Or maybe worried that I'll be replaced by that little red sports car at some point?" Dean smirked against Richard's fingers but Richard pulled it away, leaving Dean's cheek cold and unattended. 

"No. I mean yes…no…I don't know." Frustration turned Richard's eyes dark again. "All I know…all I know is…why is this so hard?"

Dean tangled their fingers together, waiting until Richard looked at him again. He smiled gently. "All you know is…what? How about starting there."

Richard nodded, licking his lips and swallowing hard. His voice turned low and even again as he continued. "All right. All I know is I want more time with you. All I know is I love you. All I know is mid-life rubbish or not, I want to call you my partner or my boyfriend or whatever term is proper these days, and not just part-time—all the time."

Dean kissed him then. He kissed him with adoration and passion and with everything he had. When he pulled back he couldn't control the goofy grin that threatened to crack his face. "It would be a logistical nightmare."

Richard nodded, his lips quirking up from their serious, straight-line position. "More than likely."

"Eventually people might find out the truth."

Another nod and Richard's smile grew. "Yes."

"We'd need a better coffee-maker than that piece of shit you have here."

"The very best America has to offer."

Dean gnawed on his bottom lip, trying to hinder the giddy laugh bubbling up his throat. He felt like a thirteen year-old girl with her first crush. It was far better than being proposed to, at least for now. "I guess if I saw you more, I wouldn't have to worry about my Aidan propensity to nap so much."

"Less jet lag would help that as well."

"Good point. Want to ask me proper-like so it's official?"

With a sputtering laugh, Richard knocked his head to Dean's again. "I'm not kneeling at your feet, O'Gorman."

Dean appreciated the teasing in Richard's voice more than he'd ever realized. A serious stressed-out Richard was both sad and heartbreaking, but a happy Richard was a beautiful thing. "Not yet, but maybe after you feed me. Carry on." He grinned wide, crossing both arms over his chest and working his laid-back disposition for all it was worth. "I'm waiting."

Richard's laugh filled the kitchen, bouncing off the tiles and quickly becoming music to Dean's ears. He didn't get down on his knees but he did lower his head so their gazes met perfectly again.

"Dean O'Gorman." Oh hell yes. Richard was pulling out one of his historical drama voices. _Have mercy_. "Would you do me the honor of shacking up with me in New York?"

A unexpected burst of laugher made Dean snort so loud it echoed through the kitchen. "Did you just say shacking up? It was so sweet before the ghetto joined the mix."

Richard did not look amusted. "Just answer the bloody question before I strangle you right here in my kitchen. You know I appall having anything out of order in here." There was more than a little growly Thorin in that statement—sexy as hell, too.

Dean cocked his head to the side, faking a sniff and squinting his eyes. "I guess so."

"You guess so?" Richard's right eyebrow crawled steadily up into his hairline. "I just might be inclined to rescind my offer with that sort of response."

"Not good enough? How about I just throw you down on the table and have my way with you instead?"

Richard snorted out a laugh. "I'd like to see you attempt it."

"It's not like I haven't done it before."

"That wasn't a table, it was a coffee table. _Big_ difference." The emphasis on the word big made Dean's jaw drop open.

"Is that a short joke, Armitage?"

"Only if it means you'll give me a proper answer."

Dean couldn't resist the Armitage eyebrow-lift any longer. "It sounds…nice. I think I'd like that...a lot." He waited for the brow to relax before he went on. "You know what else I'd like?"

Richard leaned-in close, his breath painting Dean's face with warmth. "Dare I ask?"

"I'd like to try that table thing."

"How about after I feed you?"

Dean couldn't respond because his mouth was busy with Richard's, his wide smile pressing joyfully against Dean's lips. It was proving to be a worthwhile trip after all…in a very big, kick-ass sort of way.

~*~*~

After dinner and a hot session in the living room—Richard had banned the kitchen from Dean's advances—they bundled up and huddled together in the little private yard. Dean slurped a cup of coffee while Richard sipped his tea, the pair of them quite content in the quiet dimness of dusk.

Eventually it was Richard who broke the silence. "You never told me why you were here. You mentioned Peter, but I don't for a moment believe you just dropped in without some other intent."

Dean hummed his agreement. "You didn't check in with him for the third or maybe even fourth time about the event, so he was worried."

"Third or forth? That's not reasonable." 

Dean enjoyed Richard's offended look, but it was nothing more than the truth. Richard had a habit of confirming and reconfirming any of his appearances or appointments. It was widely known by all his friends and coworkers, and in truth, it had worried Peter to within an inch of his existence—why else would he have called Dean?

"He just sensed something wasn't right. You know how Pete is? He's freaky that way, and well, you hadn't mentioned much about it so he got me worked up, as well."

"But neither of you bothered asking me about it?"

"He said you were avoiding him and I…I admit I acted a little too much on impulse." Dean grunted before continuing. "I needed a holiday anyhow. You were just the best part of the package is all."

"I appreciate that…I think."

"And the fan event…have you been having second thoughts about it?"

"Oh yes. Second, third and fourth. I didn't mean to worry Peter though. The incident at the market and the studio got me thinking I wouldn't show up at all. I believe I even had several excuses ready to defend my truancy."

"Did your _life coach_ help you make your decision on it?"

Richard nudged Dean with his shoulder. "She's not a threat to you, you know? You make her sound like some sort of monster."

"Not a monster, just stiff competition." He waited for Richard to tease him about his choice of words but the joking side of him never opened up. "Well, I guess I was jealous—maybe I still am. And yeah, why wouldn't I be worried when she was here and I wasn't…at least most of the time. I guess she threw me off my game before I even realized I was playing."

"Off your game?" Richard blinked over at him, long dark lashes fluttering against soft, pale skin. Dean wished he'd brought his camera along. With the lessening light and Richard's chiseled features, he could have had gotten some amazing shots. "

"Oh, I understand," Richard continue. "And are you a little more confident that that's not the case now?"

"Since you proposed, you mean?"

A soft chuckle vibrated through Richard and he leaned into Dean again. "Yes, that."

"I have an open ticket, you know," Dean said matter-of-factly. He rested his head against Richard's shoulder for barely a moment then pulled away. The yard was partially sheltered from the street, but not enough that Richard was usually comfortable with public affection. Maybe one day…

"Open ticket? To go home, you mean?"

"Was planning a stop in New York first if that's all right with you."

Richard's face lit up and Dean had a momentary pang of guilt sweep through him. "Are you going to the taping then too? That's brilliant. It'll be so much easier if you're—"

"No. It's just you and Orlando, and Anderson Cooper, of course. You've always said he was hot."

Ignoring Dean's teasing, Richard shook his head with indignation. "But if you're going to be there, why can't you participate, too? I'm sure Peter would be thrilled—"

"Already talked to him about it. Sure, he thought it would be an awesome idea, but I think you need to do it by yourself, especially considering the problems you've been having with attention. I'll wait in the car with my laptop." He bumped his head to Richard's shoulder. "I expect you'll barely even have to talk, just sit there and look gorgeous. I can watch the whole thing and if you need me, I'll whisk you away like a damsel in distress."

"Like a what? You're mad. Maybe you'll change your mind when we get to New York." Richard smiled gently, shifting his body so he could squeeze a hand between them. He entwined his fingers with Dean's and pressed their hands against his thigh. "We could do some pre-planning while we're there, too."

Dean squinted over at him. "Pre-planning?"

"I've already left a drawer empty and part of the closet. I don't remember consciously doing it, but maybe it was a sign that I've been ready for a while."

It was a brilliant sign actually, but as usual, Dean opted for the lighter train of thought. "Do I get to choose my side of the bed?"

"Same one as always I suspect."

"What if I want to switch it up?"

"As long as I'm the other half of the switch, you can do anything you like, O'Gorman."

"You're such a romantic, Armitage."

"Get back to me on that when you've moved in and I make you clean up the flat. I'm quite fussy, you know? I run a tight ship."

Dean almost choked on his own reply. "The tighter the better."

~*~*~

He liked Richard's flat. It wasn't fancy or over-wrought with stuff—more minimalistic if anything, and the location was excellent when it came to New York City apartments. He checked his watch again as he moved through the rooms, nonchalantly ticking off things he could add to the place to make it a little more his when he moved in.

It was still amazing that he'd been so quick to accept. Telling someone you loved them and officially becoming their boyfriend or partner or what-the-fuck-ever was one thing, but agreeing to move to another country with them was totally another. But despite all that would be involved in making it actually happen, Dean was jumping around like a little boy with his first puppy—at least inside.

"Rich!" He flipped the light off in the spare room before making his way to Richard. He was in the bedroom where he'd spent the better part of an hour just staring into the closet. "The car's going to be here in fifteen minutes. Christ, mate. You're still not dressed?"

Richard turned to glare at him, the action completely lost to Dean in light of the half-naked, boxer-clad sculpture of a man standing before him. He wondered if they had time to define the meaning of the word _quickie_ before they had to be out the door to the fan event. Unfortunately, the seriously perplexed look on Richard's face told him that wasn't going to happen.

"Should I wear the black suit with my light blue shirt? Or maybe the dark blue with the white shirt?"

"Why don't you kickstart your mid-life crisis with something a little more casual?" Dean grinned wide at him, forcing his dimples to pop and turning slightly to the right so Richard as in full view of the left one.

"How? No tie?"

Dean groaned. "I think you need a life coach for your wardrobe."

Richard glowered at him this time. "That's not the slightest bit amusing."

"I'm sorry." And Dean was highly apologetic as he stepped behind Richard, winding his arms around his naked waist and pressing his half-hard arousal against his arse. If only there weren't jeans and boxers between him and Richard…

"You're not sorry. Now stop trying to wind me up or we'll end up missing the event entirely, then you can explain to Peter how I chose your dick over his baby…so to speak."

"Shouldn't really be a choice, should it?"

"Dean."

"Okay, okay." Dean kissed Richard's shoulder then moved to the closet. He flicked through the hangers, frowning at the number of suits and dress shirts and formalwear. "I thought you had a stylist who usually did this."

"I decided I could do this one on my own."

"Part of the whole midlife crisis thing?"

Richard sighed his answer. "Yes, one that I'm apparently not succeeding at."

"You're doing fine." Dean pulled a pair of dark trousers from the closet, along with a brown leather jacket and soft, black jumper. "These will look awesome on you."

"Together?" Richard wrinkled his nose, accepting the pieces of clothing but holding them in his hands like they were made of spun glass. "These jeans are too shiny and if I remember correctly, are too tight, and the brown leather doesn't really go with the rest, does it? Are you trying to turn me into someone young and hip? I believe Orlando will accomplish that task quite nasty."

Dean lifted up on his toes to kiss Richard, grazing his fingers down his cheek and over his bare neck. "You are young and hip, and tight is good. Trust me, you'll look like a million bucks, and everyone will wanna fuck you."

Richard chuckled then tossed the clothes onto the bed. He dragged Dean closer and dipped his head to bump their foreheads together. "I'm not sure that's the look I'm going for."

"It should always be the look you're going for." Dean tugged Richard's head down, then slid his tongue over his bottom lip. He gripped Richard's arse as he pulled him even closer, canting his hips so bare skin met harsh denim. "How long is this going to take?"

With a groan, Richard kissed Dean's left dimple then lowered his head to tongue at the pulse point in his neck. "Peter said a couple of hours plus some interviews after. Are you sure you want to wait that long in the car? I'm perfectly fine with you staying here until I get back."

"Get dressed," Dean said. He squeezed Richard's backside then pushed him away. "Do you know where that bag from the pharmacy went?"

Richard looked puzzled for a moment before his eyebrows arched up into his hairline. "The one with the con—"

"Rubbers." Dean grinned and waggled his own eyebrows.

"Are you planning on getting lucky in the back of the car while I'm sweating it out under the hot lights at the studio?"

Dean found the bag on the table and shoved it into the pocket of his leather jacket. "Of course not…at least not until after you're back in the car."


End file.
